


In Sickness and In Health

by Flames_and_Jade



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Confessions, F/M, Illnesses, Introspection, Love, Reconciliation, Self-Pity, Sick Character, mush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 12:49:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7223014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Jade/pseuds/Flames_and_Jade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This came from a post on Tumblr with various story starters, and a friend of mine asked me to write the "Space Cancer" one. About how Mara's illness made her pull away from Luke, and maybe a bit of why. So this is what came out! Hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This series is now complete. It is three vignettes revolving around Mara's illness during NJO. 
> 
> Part I is from her perspective (in the 2nd person POV). It's set during R.A. Salvatore's "Vector Prime," when Luke and Mara are heading to the Belkadan system to try to find the answers Kyp's Dozen-and-Two died to find. Before anyone had even heard of the Yuuzahn Vong.
> 
> Part II is Luke's thoughts and musings on her disease (in the 1st person POV) that occurs sometime before the fall of Coruscant. 
> 
> Part III is a third-person POV retelling of the events after Mara uses Vergere's tears in "Balance Point" by Kathy Tyers.
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

You stare out the viewport, the silence howling at you. 

 

People think that silence is an _absence_ , a _lack_ , a _vacuum,_ like space. But that couldn’t be farther than the truth—not when you’re Mara Jade. The silence is full of bits of thought, snatches of sound and conversation, fragments of memory, flashes of emotion, slivers of possibility, and traces of fear.

 

You gaze at the starlines. Luke had told you he always found hyperspace peaceful, almost hypnotic. You don’t really see it that way—to you it’s just a blank slate, a non-entity that neither detracts nor adds to your thoughts. But regardless of the spectacle hurtling past your eyes, you love the peace of space.

 

Space had always been your time, in your youth. The place you felt like privacy was almost in your grasp. Now, you take the peace, drink it in like a vaporator on Tatooine. 

 

Because who knows how much peace you have left. 

 

Something stirs in your heart. Something close to hatred, but without the focus. Something near to heartbreak, but without the stabbing loss. You sigh, trying to get the hard knot that coils in your gut, all those half-formed feelings tied under your ribs. 

 

 _Sickness_. 

 

Your body had always been your only ally. You have used its beauty to gain access, to beguile. It’s strength has been the counterpoint of your spirit, it’s resiliency has forever been a constant in a regularly-changing galaxy. You have worked it, moulded it, shaped it into a partner that is the equal of your soul. Never have you demanded something it could not deliver, never has it failed you.

 

Until now. 

 

Now you ache when you move, your skin stretched taught over sharp bones. Your heart pounds like it will explode or will sometimes feel like it’s about to give in. Other days, you feel like you’re unmoored in your own body, the effort to kick to the surface and gasp for air seems nearly insurmountable. Always changing, always shifting, always adapting. Whatever this strange malady is, it twists and transforms like a scarf spun through the air. 

 

Your mind drifts over the countless times this ague has mutated, the organs it has assaulted, the deviousness with which it tries to destroy you. It started on your lungs, leaving you gasping and choking for air. Then it had moved on to your joints, until every movement, even to open your mouth so you could moisten your lips, was agony. From there it had seeped into your skin; rashes, sores, boils—all had appeared to torment you. 

 

The most fearful of all had been two weeks ago. You had awoken from a rare full-night’s rest to a stabbing pain; red was exploding behind your eyelids. Your eyes, so fragile, such an elegant balance between light and chemistry and electricity had been targeted. Clutching at the pain you had rolled off the bed, hitting the floor with a sharpness that barely registered in comparison to the searing torment. Luke had grabbed you, pulled you upright and the fear in his voice had unnerved you. But that had been nothing compared to the awful moment when you found the strength to grit your teeth and lift your eyelids…

 

To blackness. 

 

Your husband—he is strong, yes, but he is not you. You know your body better than anyone. He had begged you to let him help, but you pushed him away, lashing out that he was only distracting you. Deep into the Force you fell, weaving strands of light, of healing through your nerves, bathing the membranes in the feather-light touch of a galaxy of power siphoned down to your will.

 

Hours later—Luke had later told you it had been nearly 11—you opened your eyes. The first thing you saw was his hair; blonde, light from all the time spent outdoors teaching students the ways of the Force. Then you see his eyes, filled with tears and worry and a touch of panic. You had let out the breath you hadn’t known you had been holding…and blinked deliberately. Fear to close your eyes again—to surrender to the blackness for even a moment—would not consume you. No matter what this disease tried, you would beat it.

 

His hand had found yours, and he had squeezed as you felt thankfulness fill his heart. But you felt only exhaustion, the weariness of a soldier pushing through to capture the hilltop, jumping down into a trench, only to have to climb back out in order to jump down into the next. The fight seemed to have no end—the hilltop moved farther and farther even as you dragged yourself towards it. Just a few days ago the disease had attacked your womb, the very center of your womanhood, of your dreams. It had terrified you—not for the immediate threat, but for all it could take from your future. Health seemed like a dream, half-remembered and taunting you with its elusive splendor. You ache to feel _whole_ , but you’re slowly starting to forget what it felt like. And more than anything, that terrifies you.

 

You yawn. Looking down at the timer to double check, you nod in satisfaction all has been calculated correctly. At least if your body is failing you, your mind is still whole. For now. Nine hours until the ship will drop out of hyperspace and arrive at Belkadan. 

 

Standing gingerly, you head back to the stateroom, and pause at the open door. He is sprawled out on the bed, one hand flung out to touch the space you normally occupy. Sleep has softened his features, the years and their burdens lessened as he slumbers away. You take a step towards the bed, hand going to your utility belt buckle…and stop.

 

In your mind’s eye, you see yourself disrobing quietly, and sliding in bed next to him. You would gently nudge the hand aside, and he would reach for you, smiling softly in his sleep. He would pull you close, body fitting perfectly with yours—warm and smelling of sunshine and seas of sand. Gently, his spirit would twine with yours, seeking to protect you, to build you up, to bolster your reserves…

 

Something clenches around your heart, freezing your muscles in place. A feeling like claustrophobia wraps around your face, your neck…and your muscles come back to life, and they are propelling you backwards, away, letting the door slide shut behind you. Leaving him to dream alone. 

 

Picking up a blanket from the common area, you return to the deck and drop back into the pilot’s seat. It is cushioned and conforms comfortingly to your body, and you pull the blanket up, tucking it up under your legs to keep the draft out. 

 

You stare at the stars rushing past and speculate about what you will find at your destination. Your last thought is to wonder what the disease will try to take from you next. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I decided I can't leave these two alone and unhappy...so at the request of @teagrl83, I'm continuing. This is set just after the previous look at Mara, but now from Luke's perspective. I've never written in 1st Person, so this was a bit of a personal challenge for me. Hope you enjoy!

 

I look at Mara, and I see a hundred versions of her. I see the Mara who glared turbo-lasers at me when I woke up on Mrkyr, who had murderous satisfaction in her eyes when I checked to be see if she was alive in her crashed Skipray. I see the Mara who grabbed my hand to make sure I paid close attention on Wayland, and made me promise to kill her before she could go to the Dark. I see the Mara who was polite but distant whenever I was with Callista, even as I was deliriously happy and oblivious to her pain. I see the Mara who couldn’t quite keep the frustration out of her face when I could hear the Qom Qae and she couldn’t. I see the moment when she became _my_ Mara…when our minds and souls and hearts became one, and I treasure that Mara so highly. When she said _yes_ to me…it was the first time I saw her face soften, and the most beautiful smile in the galaxy blossom across her face.

 

But now…I see all those iterations of my beloved, and it’s like they are wreathed in shadow, a cloud has blown across all those beautiful memories. This illness—whatever it is—has taken so much of her. But then I realize no—it hadn’t _taken_ her. It had _hidden_ her away, somewhere even I couldn’t find her.

 

She finishes her report, and rises from the terminal. I see the stiffness in her movements, the unwilling hesitancy. Nothing comes easily to her anymore; it’s a challenge, but every single time she rises to meet it. At least it hasn’t taken that part of her—she’s still my Mara. My fighter.  
  
Limping slightly, she heads towards the bedroom. “I’m going to bed. See you in the morning.” I start to rise. 

 

“Do you need anything? I could—“ She cuts me off with a glare, and I fall silent. Her gaze softens, just slightly, and she gives me a tired half-smile…and then she is gone.

 

I sit back down on the couch, and stare at the closed door, my heart squeezed in a vise of agony. Once again, I ask the gods of the galaxy why couldn’t it have been me? I would give anything to take her illness, her pain, and give her back life. Give her my vitality and bear her frailty in my own flesh. Every time she gasps at something that didn’t hurt before, or she staggers, and pushes me away…I curse whatever chance cube was rolled in the heavens that dictated this would afflict _her._ My Mara.

 

But I also am gripped with such…anger isn’t the right word, neither is frustration. When she pushes me away, I feel _hollow._ I thought she had learned long ago in the caves of Nirauan that my offer of help didn’t mean she was weak. But even then, she was healthy, and now she has even more reason to take my assistance. But she doesn’t. 

 

I wonder if part of this disease is to unearth it’s victims old pains, their tamped-down brokenness, their private hurts. It’s almost as if my wife has…faded. Back to the sharp-edged, wrapped-tight Mara she had been when I met her—and it breaks my heart, every time. I want to shake her sometimes, to yell at her _I’m here! I’m still her Luke and I want nothing more than to help her, to give her my strength!_ But I also want to grab her and wrap my arms around her, and hold her tight. To whisper that I’d do anything and everything I can to to make it even the slightest bit easier, because she is my world. To bury my face in her hair and beg her to let me help…because I love her.

 

My mind drifts a bit—I imagine what that would be like, if she would let me help….

 

_“I’m going to bed.” I nod, and rise from the couch and go to her, taking her hand and kissing it softly. Together we walk into the bedroom, the lights of the main living space turning off with a whisper of thought. She walks into the ‘fresher, and starts washing her face, while I go to the bureau and pull out a soft sleep shirt I know she favors, and a pair of pants for me._

 

_I see her start to reach up to undo her braid, and I see the tiny shake of her hands. I go to her, and cover her hands with my own. She gives me a wry smile in the mirror, and I smile back before lowering my head to press a soft kiss to where her neck meets her shoulder. Then I begin to release her fiery hair from its braid, pulling the sections apart and letting it fall to her shoulders. Taking her hair brush from the small drawer, I softly brush the glimmering strands, starting at the bottom just like she had showed me long ago. I make my way up to her scalp, and run the brush through the roots of her hair. She sighs and closes her eyes, a tiny smile of contentment on her lips as I massage some of the tension away._

 

_I set the brush down and can’t stop myself from running my fingers through the strands. They are so soft, glittering in the light, a river of molten gold and flame. She lets me, as she brushes her teeth, and I finally relinquish her hair to fall over her shoulder, and I complete my bedtime ritual as well. She puts on the sleep shirt I brought her, and I see her wince as she pulls her shoulder up to maneuver her arm into the sleeve. I take it, and help her guide her hand in, supporting her elbow so she doesn’t have to use the joint’s frayed muscles to take the strain. I feel a pulse of gratitude in our bond, and I send a pulse of love back. She moves to the bed, and sits down as I begin to move the pillows and pull back the blankets._

_  
“I’m thirsty—be right back.” She rises, and I look up._

 

_“Can I get it for you?” Shaking her head, she stands and gives me a imperious look that we both know is an act._

 

_“Thank you, but no.” Moving away, she leaves the bedroom, and I settle into the blankets, using the Force to dim the lights. She comes back with a glass of water, taking a long drink as she sits. Laying down, I see that her chest is rising and falling just a bit faster than normal, and her cheeks are a bit flushed._

 

_“Are you—“_

 

_“Alright?” She cuts me off smoothly.“Yes. Artoo couldn’t get to his charging station—I forgot I had moved some stuff out of that closet and left it on the floor.”_

 

_I give her a look full of gentle admonishment. “I could have helped you.” She gives me a smile in return that is both self-deprecating and patronizing._

 

_“I know. But I could do it, so I did.” She scoots closer to me, the extra effort of getting air into her lungs making her words come out breathy, husky. “But now that I’ve done my physical exercise for the day, it’s time for you to do yours.” A glint comes to her eyes, alluring and hungry. “You’ll do most of the work, but I have a feeling you’ll forgive me for any…exertion on my part that I feel is necessary.” Then she pulls my face down, and my lips meet hers. Her thoughts echo between us—a challenge and a plea and a siren’s call._

 

_Make me feel good, my love. Just for a while._

 

I open my eyes, and sigh, the last vestiges of the daydream fading away as I feel her wrapped tight in the Force, our bond laying dormant and silent—empty. It’s been so long since she even let me hold her, much less make love to her. I’m not upset because I miss the release…I just miss being _with_ her. United. Together. One.

 

My mind turns to why she pushes me away, and I resolutely try to push those thoughts away as I rise, leaving the daydreams behind. But my mind—never obedient—whispers that it’s because she is fearful. Afraid of the pain of saying goodbye, of my sorrow if this claims her. Or even worse, perhaps she is afraid that I will someday lose interest, or love her less for her imagined weakness. That thought occurs to me as I step into the bedroom, and I see her nestled in the bed. She looks so small laying there—fragile. I forget sometimes that she’s only a few inches taller than Leia, who is the tiniest person I know. She makes everyone forget that, by her strength and her fire and her passion. Perhaps that is what she is trying to do now, by pulling away—make me forget her. Yet nothing could be farther from the realm of possibility, how can she not know that?

 

Gently I settle into bed next to her, heart heavy as those unbidden but tenacious thoughts torture me, yet she doesn’t wake. I stretch out through the Force towards her, hoping her barriers are not erected too tightly…they aren’t, a sure sign she was exhausted when she fell asleep. If she would only let me help her, we could together weave a light healing trance that would help her more than a normal night’s rest. It’s usually hard for most Jedi to do…but most Jedi don’t have a bond like us. But every time I’ve asked she refuses, so I’ve stopped bringing it up. But tonight, like every other night when she forgets to wrap her barriers around herself like a fortress, I open a channel between our minds.  I pour some of my strength into her, a silent trickle of healing and energy, of light and love.

 

If that’s all she will allow, I’ll do it. My last thought as I drop into the blackness of sleep is the vain hope that tomorrow, she’ll let me do more.


	3. Chapter 3

_Her face relaxed and tears leaked from the outside corners of her eyes. Luke’s face grew warm, and his eyes grew moist with relief and vigilant joy. Mara’s eyes blinked open and she smiled weakly. “I think it’s working…I can feel it coursing through me…” She groped blindly for Luke’s hand and drew it to her breast. “I think I’m healing, Luke. I’m sure I’m healing.”_

_Luke caught sight of the skeptical glances exchanged by Tomla El and OOlos, but he said nothing. Rather, he looked again at Mara through the Force and found her luminous. A smile of unabashed delight split his face. He put his arm under his wife’s shoulders and gently lifted her into his embrace. Her arms encircled his neck, and she clung to him, crying quietly and joyously._

 

_“We have our victory.” Luke whispered._

 

Her tears fall unhindered, and for once she doesn’t care who sees. Luke’s arms are strong around her, and she lets herself soak up the warmth for the first time in months. Her heart leaps at the realization of what this could all mean, that she might have a chance. That this whole ordeal might not be one long goodbye. That she might not _have_ to say goodbye.

 

She can feel his reluctance to let her go, but the doctors prevail to let them run a few tests to make sure that nothing is wrong. Luke hesitantly steps away, and Mara’s eyes linger on him until she could no longer hold the drowsiness at bay. Her eyes fall closed, but the smile doesn’t leave her face. Once they are satisfied, the doctors allow Luke to take her home, with strict instructions to watch her closely and notify them immediately if her condition changes. 

 

Dozing lightly during the ride home, her body feels both electrified and soothed all at once. She lets Luke help her into their apartment, smiling at his surprise at the allowance. 

 

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” 

 

Her thoughts tremble with silent laughter at Luke’s cure to all that ails—food. But she just shakes her head, a soft smile still on her face like she’s drunk and high all at once.

 

“No. I just want to lie down.” He nods, and helps her start towards the bedroom. She stumbles on one of the steps—more from inattention then weakness—but that is the only excuse he needs to sweep her up into his arms. He tenses, ready for her protest and she can feel the way he steels himself. Instead, she is quiet and his armor slips away, melting like ice on hot pavement and she can feel his thankfulness. Gently, he puts her down on the bed and bends down to help her with her boots. She simply sits and looks at him, seeing for the first time the gentleness in his hands, but also the hesitancy in his movements. Once they are both off, she places a hand under his chin and raises his face to hers, gazes meeting like magnets drawn together.

 

“Thank you.” She whispers the words and is overwhelmed by the smile that bursts over his face like the sunrise. He nods and takes her hand, kissing it softly. Reaching up, she begins to take her hair out of its braid. But then Luke’s hands are there, deftly helping her unwind the strands until it is unbound and lying over her shoulders. He runs his fingers through it for a moment, and she can sense the texture of his thoughts changing, rolling backwards to an errant memory before he bends down and kisses the top of her head.

 

She smiles her thanks and lays down, not caring she’s still wearing most of her clothing. He sits down, and for a long moment, they look at each other, wonderment and happiness floating between them. He starts to rise, but she pats the bed next to her and can feel the answering spike of gladness that arcs out from him as he settles down next to her. But the moments stretch out, Mara wonders why he doesn’t reach out and pull her close…and then it dawns on her. 

 

It’s been so long since she’d let him.

 

“Oh, Luke.” Her mind—ruthless and unblinking as ever—reminds her of all the times she has pushed him away over the last year, all the times he reached out to help and she answered with an unkind word or a sidestep. She sees for the first time the hurt that is plain on his face, the caution that has built up from a year of being rebuffed and being forced to watch the person he most loved slip away. “I’m so sorry.” She moves towards him and he pulls her in, arms around her and one hand rubbing her back soothingly. 

 

“For what, my love?” She feels her heart break anew at the honest question she senses in those four words—her farmboy is so forgiving, he doesn’t even know what she is apologizing for, what she could have done. 

 

“For shutting you out.” 

 

His relief sweeps over her, so overpowering for a moment she wonders how she had never seen the longing that accompanied it. He held her tenderly like he was afraid she would break, and she realized that sleep was pulling at her like the tide. She tries to fight it, to push it away. There’s so much she wanted to say to him, to tell him the things she had kept locked inside.

 

Their bond lay open and unhindered and she wondered how she could have ever shut him out, pushed him away. But he could sensed the way sleep was drawing her under and his words were tender, caressing her with understanding. 

 

“Sleep, my love. I’m not going anywhere.” 

 

Cradled in the safety of her husband’s arms, Mara Jade Skywalker slept.

 

~//~

 

The first thing she realized when she woke was their bedroom was dark except for the moonlight streaming through the open windows, which told her two things: they had both not expected to sleep this long, and they had been asleep for quite a while. The next thing she realized was Luke holding her like she was the last life-raft on Camino…and it felt wonderful. 

 

Sighing contentedly she shifted a little in his embrace, but her mind started turning and tumbling, prodding at her. _Of course it feels good, Jade. [Why didn’t I let him do this sooner?] He’s your husband for Sith’s sake and he loves you. [Why didn’t he try harder?] You should try to go back to sleep, those tears were no walk in the park. [I was so afraid…afraid he’d be hurt, that it would distract him, that he’d never…]_

 

“I can hear you thinking, Mara.” His voice was surprisingly alert, considering she would have sworn he had been sleeping like a rock ten seconds prior, and his arms tightened around her. “Why don’t you stop rolling it all around in your head and talk to me about it?”

 

She pushed away enough that she could see his face—eyes a luminous midnight that seemed to echo the blue-tinged light of the moon. His hair was mussed, and she couldn’t resist reaching up to smooth it down, just a little. A smile settled over his lips, and the arm that lay draped over her waist tightened for a moment like a tiny hug. She ran her fingers down his chest, distracting herself with how the muscled planes under his shirt felt, but then his hand left her waist and closed around hers. 

 

“Just tell me one of the things you’re thinking. We can just start there, okay?”

 

Looking up at him, she turned her fingers around so she was holding his hand and nodded. 

 

“I guess I was just thinking about why I didn’t let you do this sooner.” He remained silent, and she could sense a tiny clenching of his heart—a readying. Like he was wondering if his answer to the question would match hers, or if they’d be so blindingly different it would break his hopes. 

 

“What did you come up with?” His tone was soothing, not quite the patronizing teacher voice he used with his students, but close. She rolled to her back and stared up at the ceiling, willing herself to focus on the uninterrupted surface and order her thoughts.

 

“I was afraid.”

 

“Why?” His question is soft.

 

She shifts a bit and returns to her exploration of his chest, the prospect of finally verbalizing all her heart’s terrors unnerving her. For so long she had been terrified if she worked the thousands of reasons she had pulled away into words, they would come true. Luke’s mind was soft, expectant but not insistent against hers, and she sighs. “You were so needed, and I felt like I was a distraction, my illness was a distraction. We were supposed to be a team, and instead I was a weight to carry. I was afraid you would worry about me and not be focused and…something would happen.” 

 

He rubbed abstract patterns on her back, soothing and soft. “You’re never a burden, my love.” 

 

She nodded absently, the words pushing against her mind like waves crashing against a storm wall. It had been so long she had held them back, barely daring to think them during moments of solitude. Now that she finally felt safe to let them free they seemed to stick in her throat, silencing her. 

 

“It’s okay.” The words were a whisper against her skin as he moved to gently kiss her cheek, and she could feel him wrapping his spirit around her, bolstering her without asking for anything in return. Giving her courage. 

 

“I was afraid to say goodbye.” She breathed the terrifying sentence like it was a spell, as if lingering on it would make it powerful. But nothing happened—the blackness didn’t take her, instead the specter of her mortality seemed to fade as and her heart was revived by a trickle of courage. “I was afraid I would have to do it someday. That all this stolen time would be nothing but more memories to haunt you. I suppose I thought it would make it easier, like somehow you would miss me less.” His arms tighten around her, like he could keep her forever just by his own strength and he buries his face in her hair and she feels him shuddering.

  
But now the damn had broken, and she swore she would tell him all of it—nothing would be unspoken between them ever again. Pushing away, she met his gaze and her heart trembled at the heartbreak in his eyes. “And I could’t let you see.”

 

“See what?” His voice was rough with the effort to keep back the tears. 

 

“How close I was.” Confusion floated around their bond, and she forced herself to finish the sentence. “To…losing.”

 

Wordless agony crashes into her like a giant wave. His horror at her admission stretches out and wraps around her, plunging her back for a moment into the doubts, the agonizing fear that she would try her best and it _wouldn’t be enough_. Gasping, she flounders in the churning sea of emotion as he drowns in it himself. But then like the tide it begins to pull away, leaving her cheeks wet and her breathing ragged from sobs she didn’t remember letting free. Haunted blue eyes meet hers and she sees he is in no better a state, grief mingling with his receding fears. For a long moment they stare at each other in silence, raw pain and mute anguish.

 

Then his hands are on her face and his lips are on hers, pulling her in desperately. For the first time in months, she feels his _need._ How he is terrified to ever let her go for fear she will never return, how he wants her to feel as safe and loved as he can make her, how he wants to pull her in and never say goodbye. 

 

Salty tears mingle with their lips as they kiss, long and frenzied. Hands roam over flesh, pushing away garments and months of separation and loss. She trembles beneath him, from both the passion in his fingers and the sorrow in her heart. Her spirit begs for his forgiveness even as his own offers it, and he murmurs his unending love against her lips, his refusal to ever let her go, his pledge to never relinquish her. 

 

Together they fly to the heights of passion. Luke has always been a tender lover, a perfect counterpoint to her more insistent touch. But tonight they are both overcome with the desire to out-love the other, to brand into each others minds the passion between them, the flame that will never be extinguished. To pull the other so close that they will never be separated again, to say all the things they had kept locked in the silence, to show the other the unending depths of their devotion.

 

Tears and laughter. Infirmity and healing. Sorrow and forgiveness. Passion and heartbreak. 

 

Love.


End file.
